


Is that a Rocket in your Pocket

by rivers_bend



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Penis Size, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:52:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Harry's dick is very large and Nick's thirst is very real</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is that a Rocket in your Pocket

**Author's Note:**

> MindIzMySpear had a tag on tumblr about wanting fic about Harry's big cock, and next thing I knew I had two-thousand words of this. 
> 
> I do not know either of the people whose names and public personas are used in this story, and neither believe nor mean to imply it's true.

“Harold,” Nick says, “that’s obscene.” What he doesn’t say is that he wants it in his mouth, and his life would be a thousand times easier if Harry didn’t just whack it out all over the shop like they haven’t got drunk together enough times for him to know Nick has a _thing_ about long, thick dicks. 

“Sorry,” Harry says, though he’s clearly not. He finishes pulling up his boxers, and tucks himself tidily away in his jeans. Nick will never understand where he puts it. It’s like Harry defies the laws of physics. 

“Why are you getting your tackle out in my lounge anyway?” Nick asks. 

“I remembered Zanzibar has black lights in the alcoves and I was wearing white pants. Nothing says numpty like a glowing strip of white ‘round your waist.” 

“You could use the bathroom?” Not that Nick doesn’t know what the answer to that is going to be.

“But I was already here,” Harry says. Of course.

“C’mon, then. Taxi’s waiting.” 

*

Nick’s been monopolizing the bathroom this morning. Though does it count as monopolizing if it’s your own flat and you’re the one who has to be at work at the crack of arse? It’s not his fault Harry can’t sleep in his own four-bathroom house, and prefers Nick’s sofa to his two-thousand-pound bed. Anyway, the point is, Harry’s not had a chance to get in there yet. Which is the excuse Nick’s using for why Harry’s standing in front of Nick’s kettle with a tent pole the size of the empire state building distorting the front of his tiny, grey briefs. 

“Good god, what are you going to do with that?” Nick says, hoping his tone is closer to horrified than drooling. He senses a bit of drooling, if he’s honest. 

“Make tea?” Harry looks at him like he’s touched in the head, and pours boiling water into mugs. Right. He thinks nothing of wandering around in his pants, and thought Nick meant the kettle. 

“Of course,” Nick says a bit faintly. “Bathroom’s free if you want it.” He will drink his tea and not think about Harry wrapping his hand around that monster in his pants with Nick nothing but a short corridor away. 

“Thanks,” Harry says, doctoring Nick’s cup just the way he likes it before handing it over. “You making toast?” 

Nick always knew the four-slice toaster was more a gift _for_ Harry than from him. “Fine,” he says. 

Harry kisses Nick’s cheek on his way past to go do whatever it is he does that allows him to fit into his jeans. “Keep the dial on four. It doesn’t cook any faster if you turn it up; you only burn it.” 

“Thank you, Nigella,” Nick says, but he keeps the dial on four as he’s told. The toast does come out perfectly. 

*

Nick tries not to swallow his tongue, takes a breath, and says, “What’s all this, then?” 

Harry presses Nick’s palm more firmly to the bulge in the front of his trousers, tips his head back against Nick’s shoulder, and whispers, “’S my dick.” 

The ‘all this’ Nick had been referring to wasn’t the dick, which he recognizes, thanks ever so, but the fact that Harry’s pulled Nick’s arms around him, tucking his back to Nick’s chest, and is humping Nick’s hand. 

“So I see.” Nick would move his hand away, but Harry’s got a really good grip on it, and the way Nick’s fingertips curl perfectly under Harry’s balls while his cock rides the cup of Nick’s palm and up past his wrist is making Nick stupid. 

“No,” Harry says. “You can’t see it right now. Later. You can see it later. Naked. It wants to be naked.” 

Harry’s clearly made several more trips to the bar since Nick last crossed paths with him, or, more likely, several people have brought him drinks. The danger of being charming at a party with an open bar. “You’re drunk, popstar.” 

“Do you know what _in vino veritas_ means?” Harry asks, letting his mouth move wetly along Nick’s neck. Before Nick can say of course he does, Harry continues. “It means tequila makes you tell the truth.” 

Nick has no doubt that the truth of Harry’s life is he’d like someone to touch his dick. Nick’s just not convinced that if Harry were sober, that person would be him. What with Nick having a dick of his own, and Harry being more of a ladies’ man. “If you say, so,” he answers. “Let’s get you some water.” And let’s get my hand off your dick, he doesn’t add. He just eases it away, hoping neither his hand nor Harry notice, as both of them seem really into the whole rubbing thing. 

Harry’s pliant in Nick’s arms, and goes toward the bar with Nick willingly enough. They get two glasses of water, one with extra ice, so Nick can use it to freeze the feel of Harry’s bulge from his hand. It would be more effective if the half-pint glass weren’t so reminiscent of the size and shape of Harry’s cock. 

Half an hour later, Nick pours Harry into a cab, and takes him home. He pouts and complains when Nick won’t let him into his bed, but Nick holds firm. As firm as Harry’s dick in his hand, and fuck it. He has a rule about not wanking to thoughts of Harry while Harry’s sleeping on his sofa, but rules are for suckers. 

Ungh. Why did he think that? He wants to suck Harry so bad he can actually taste it. 

*

Harry was drunk enough to stay where he was put last night, but apparently while Nick was sleeping, Harry sobered up. Nick wakes to cold toes on his ankles, and a hot, wet tongue behind his ear. Harry smells more like toothpaste than booze, so he obviously stopped to clean up along the way. 

“What are you doing, Harry?” Nick doesn’t open his eyes, because he’d bet a year’s wages Harry’s doing the puppy-eyed thing right now, and Nick’s not feeling strong enough to deal with that. 

“I was hoping you wanted to help me take care of this?” 

_This_ , is a—is he fucking kidding—naked dick that Harry brushes on the back of Nick’s wrist. Nick’s eyes fly open. It’s even hotter than Harry’s tongue. 

“You can’t climb naked into someone’s bed uninvited, Harry.” Nick’s fingers are twitching and his mouth is watering with how much he wants to help with that, but he is a grown man. Harry is his friend. His straight friend, last time he checked. 

“You did invite me,” Harry says. He’s not pushing his dick on Nick, but it’s still close enough Nick can feel the heat coming off it. 

“I—“ Nick does not remember doing that. 

“You said if I still wanted you after breakfast I could. I’ve had a cuppa and a banana. I still want you.” 

Nick scoots back an inch, maybe three, and wracks his brain for everything he’d said last night while he was trying to convince Harry that Harry really had to stay on the sofa and not come to bed with him. It is, he’s afraid, possible that in a weak moment, he might have made such a promise, assuming Harry wouldn’t even remember, much less try to take him up on it in the morning. 

“You don’t want _me_ though,” Nick says. “I’m not your type.” 

Harry gives him a look. It manages to combine stern, disbelieving, and hurt all at once. Nick has a _lot_ of practice protecting himself from Harry’s looks, but practice means shit apparently. This look is going to break his will or die trying. And also maybe his heart, but Nick’s not going to talk about that. 

“What?” he says when Harry’s look isn’t followed by any words. 

“I’ve been describing you in detail to interviewers for more than a year, every time I’m asked about my ideal person.” 

“Ideal girlfriend.” Nick’s read all the interviews. They definitely specify girlfriend.

“They’re the ones who say girl. I say person.” Harry edges ever so slightly closer. Still not quite close enough to get his dick in Nick’s hand, but close enough Nick would only have to move an inch or so to kiss him. 

Nick plays back the interviews in his head. Harry’s right. He does say person. “And what makes you think you’re _my_ type?” Nick says, because he can never keep his mouth shut when he should. 

This time Harry doesn’t look hurt, though. He looks smug. 

“You stare at my dick a lot. You always let me stay over, even when you say you’re sick of everyone and why don’t they leave you alone. You kiss my hair when you think I’m sleeping. And Aimee told me. So did Pixie. And Henry.” 

“I have terrible friends,” Nick says. They’re always getting him drunk and prying his secrets out of him. And by prying, he means waiting at least half an hour before begging him not to bang on about Harry bloody Styles. 

“I notice you’re not denying any of the rest.” This time Harry’s little wiggle brings his hips in finger-brushing distance. Nick still doesn’t let himself reach out and touch. He’s no longer totally sure why not, though. 

“I don’t kiss your hair,” Nick says. Harry’s eyebrows have a whole little incredulous dance routine. “I kiss your head.” 

That makes Harry laugh. Nick loves making him laugh. “Out of which grows my hair. But okay. You kiss my head. And stare at my dick. God, Nick, will you please just touch it? Please?” 

Please is, apparently, the magic word. 

It’s far too easy to roll Harry onto his back, fit himself on top of him, tangle their legs and pin Harry’s shoulders. Easy like they’ve done it a hundred times before, but Nick supposes they have. Wrestling for the remote, playing keep-away with Nick’s lighter, trying to still Harry’s tickling fingers. But this time Harry’s naked, and Nick’s in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt that’s riding half-way up his chest, and when Harry lifts his mouth for a kiss, Nick doesn’t come up with a million other things the tilt of his chin and set of his lips could mean. 

He kisses him. 

And, damn, it’s good. Harry kisses without hesitation, opening his whole _self_ up to it, wrapping his arms around Nick’s back, threading fingers through his hair, hooking one foot over Nick’s ankle to keep him close. Nick can see why Harry never suffers the kiss-and-tell. No way to talk about this and keep your dignity. 

But fuck dignity. Nick lost his with Harry ages ago. And right now Harry’s naked dick is bobbing against Nick’s waist, the dick Harry’d begged him to touch, so he’s going to get on that. “How do you like it?” he asks, hand skimming down Harry’s ribs toward his goal. 

“Any—“ Harry grunts with impatience, grabs Nick’s wrist and _shoves_ Nick’s hand onto his cock. “Do me like you do you when you want to come _right now_.” 

The temptation to tease, do the opposite of what Harry’s demanding, is strong, but the urge to see Harry come is stronger, so Nick shifts to give himself a bit more room and licks his palm wet. Another shift gets his own dick snugged up against Harry’s hip, then he’s wrapping his fingers around, relishing the kick of want when he has to grab tight to make them meet around Harry’s girth. His jaw aches just thinking about getting that in his mouth. 

It’s actually tighter than Nick would use on himself, but Harry seems to like the tight grip, groaning low and rough when Nick starts to move. Nick wants to watch his hand stroking the heavy weight of it, the way Harry’s foreskin slides over the head, but he only gets a few seconds before Harry’s grabbing his hair again, dragging Nick’s face up so he can fuck his mouth with his tongue. Not that Nick would have gotten much of a show anyway. Two more strokes, and Harry’s dick is jerking, going stiffer, spilling over Nick’s fingers and spurting wetly onto the bare skin of his side.

Barely having got started, Nick keeps going, rubbing Harry’s dick through the throbbing pulses of his orgasm, palming it up against Harry’s belly when his hips start to twitch like he’s gone too sensitive. “Fuck,” Nick says with feeling when Harry finally lets his mouth go so he can flop back and beam up at Nick with a smile like Nick’s never seen before. And he’s seen some _amazing_ smiles in the time he’s been friends with Harry Styles. 

“My turn,” Harry says, easing Nick’s hand off his junk, and yep, flushed and wet are nice additions to long and thick, just as Nick suspected they’d be. “Then it can be your turn again.” 

“Pretty sure you just had your turn,” Nick says, because Harry is the one who just came here. 

Harry laughs like Nick said something adorable. “My turn to _touch_ ,” he says. “I’ve been dying to for ages.” 

Nick feels like someone really ought to have told him that Harry likes dick. There’s a tiny niggling voice in the back of Nick’s head telling him he should have maybe paid more attention, but he ignores it. Surely the fact it took them so long to get here is someone else’s fault. 

Harry goes for the waist of Nick’s boxers, and Nick figures he’s going to put his hand inside, but Harry has other plans. The _thwack_ of the elastic on his stomach is sharp and makes him gasp. Not that Harry can hear it over his orders that Nick undress immediately. 

“You’re awfully demanding for a bloke who’s just had an orgasm,” Nick points out, though his argument is probably weakened by the speed at which he’s shucking his pants.

“You’re still dressed.” As soon as Nick’s pants hit his knees, Harry leaves him to kick them the rest of the way off, pushing his arms up so Harry can divest him of his t-shirt. “I’ll be quieter after the second one.” 

“Oh will you?” Nick has a clever retort about Harry assuming he’s going to get a second one, but it dies on his tongue when Harry takes Nick’s dick in both hands. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, sounding distracted. Possibly by the way he’s rhythmically squeezing the base of Nick’s cock with one hand and teasing the head with his other. That’s sure as hell distracting Nick.

“What—“ Nick starts to ask. Harry’s been watching a lot of porn, or reading books about handjob technique or something, because this is no fumbling first time getting your hands on another man’s bits. 

“I like your—“ Harry’s squeezing hand moves up and the teasing hand moves down to roll Nick’s balls, stroke the skin around them. “Everything,” Harry finishes. 

“Thats—gnngh—good. Super glad.” Really, tremendously glad. Harry is more than welcome to like Nick’s everything if it keeps him doing that. 

“Like your mouth, too. Do you ever—“ Harry speeds up his strokes, has both hands on Nick’s cock again. “Do you like to—?” Harry pokes his tongue into his cheek in demonstration. 

A half bark, half hoot is the only answer Nick’s capable of at the moment. Harry’s mime like he can’t even say the words, or the way Nick’s been obsessing over sucking him for months and Harry somehow doesn’t know, or just how good Harry’s hands feel, whatever, it’s hilarious. 

“What?” Harry says, adorable concerned wrinkle between his eyebrows. He’s stopped doing the thing with his hands. 

“Yes, I like to,” Nick says. “Please don’t stop.” 

Harry actually says, “Yay!” but he also goes back to wanking Nick off, so Nick doesn’t laugh at him for it. 

In the end, it’s not any fancy moves that make Nick come, but Harry doing short tugs while leaning in and telling Nick how much he’s looking forward to riding Nick’s cock, Nick hot and hard inside him, Harry leaking on his belly from how good it feels. 

Every single word that comes out of Nick’s mouth as he comes would get him fired from the radio in a heartbeat.

“That’s a yes, you’d like to fuck me, then?” Harry says, smirking face propped on the come-sticky hand resting in the middle of Nick’s chest. 

“Pffft,” Nick offers. He’d bet his flat on Harry never once having an offer like that turned down. 

“But now you want to suck me, right?” Harry does a little wiggle, and that’s definitely an erection pressed against Nick’s knee. 

“Jesus, Harold. How ‘bout a cup of tea first? I haven’t had any yet.” And some people need a little recovery time after early morning declarations of mutual desire for orgasms shortly followed by actualization of said orgasms. A cup of tea is called for. Plus, sucking dick is thirsty work, especially a dick the size of Harry’s. 

“Tea,” Harry says. “Be right back.” 

Nick can’t imagine why he’s surprised that Harry doesn’t bother putting pants on to go to the kitchen. 

 

When he comes back, cup of tea in each hand, Harry’s still hard. Which forces Nick to contemplate him standing between the island and the counter, touching himself, idly rubbing while he gets out the teabags with the other hand, maybe, as he pulls the milk out of the fridge, thinking more about Nick fucking him, or about Nick’s mouth on him. 

“I’ll take you out to breakfast later,” Harry says as he hands Nick’s tea over. “You need to get groceries.” 

“I know.” Nick takes a sip. It’s delicious, and it makes this feel more normal. Harry’s brought him tea in bed lots of times. That’s a thing they do. Just now, maybe they can do it with added blow jobs on occasion. 

Harry climbs back on the bed, sits tailor fashion down by Nick’s knees, hardon standing proud against his abs. Even the ridiculous butterfly doesn’t make it any less arresting. Maybe Nick doesn’t need as much tea as he thought. 

“I’m gonna have to start calling you pornstar instead of popstar,” Nick says. 

Harry sticks his tongue out, which doesn’t aid his case. He’s also got a pornstar tongue. 

“Maybe not on the radio though,” Nick concedes. 

“Maybe not on the radio,” Harry agrees. “Finchy’d have a heart attack.” 

Nick gulps two more mouthfuls and puts the mug on the side table. “He’s not the only one,” he says. “Drink up.”

Harry doesn’t bother. For a split second after Harry puts his tea aside, Nick thinks this is going to be too awkward, regrets the pause in the action, but he needn’t have worried. Harry tumbles himself into Nick’s lap and starts kissing him. When Nick responds with a hand on Harry’s head and another on his arse, Harry mumbles “How do you want me?” against Nick’s mouth. 

Excellent question. He’s feeling lazy, and Harry’s young and agile, maybe he should stay right here against the headboard with all these comfy pillows and let Harry be the one on his knees. “Like this,” he says, sliding down the wall just a bit, and encouraging Harry up to straddle his chest.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes. For the first time since he woke Nick up, he looks like he’s the one surprised by proceedings. “Does that mean I can fuck your mouth?”

Nick has a hold of Harry’s hips, and he gives them a squeeze. “I need my throat for work tomorrow.”

“No,” Harry says, fast. “I know. I’ll be so good, I promise.” 

And jesus. Nick isn’t going to even make it to tomorrow’s show. Harry’s going to kill him. “You better,” Nick says, voice rough like Harry’s fucked his throat raw already. All the times Harry’s asked Nick if he did good, the way his face lights up when Nick tells him yes—Nick can’t let himself think right now of all the ways that could translate to the bedroom. 

“I will.” Harry braces his hands on the wall above Nick’s head, looks like he’s planning on leaving them there, putting Nick in charge of getting Harry into his mouth. Nick’s a fan of anything that puts him in charge. 

With Harry watching, Nick takes him in hand, gives him a few pumps. Harry’s hair is hanging in his face and his lips are open like he’s the one about to take a cock, and he’s so stupidly beautiful Nick doesn’t know what to do with it, so he looks at Harry’s dick instead. Not that that stretches his credulity any less. His mouth fills with saliva in anticipation as he pulls it in, gives the tip a lick. That makes the curved plane of Harry’s abs jerk, so he does it again. He’s going to have Harry shaking by the time he’s done with him. 

Mouth open as wide as it will go, Nick wraps his lips around the head of Harry’s cock. He’s going to have to work to keep his teeth out of the way, but advantage of life as a size queen in a city as big as London, Nick’s had some practice. He keeps one hand on Harry’s hip just in case he can’t be as good as he promises, and uses the other one to feed Harry’s dick into his mouth. It’s hotter than Nick has words for the way all Harry’s muscles—his thighs, his stomach, even the muscles up his sides into his armpits—are stiff with how still he’s keeping as Nick suckles at the head of his cock. Nick lets him a fraction deeper, still has room to move his hand on Harry’s shaft, he’s so big. 

“God,” Harry whimpers. Nick looks up at his face, letting his tongue drag across the crown of Harry’s dick as he does, and Harry says it again. Says Nick’s name in a breathy, low rumble that Nick wants to hear more of. But he can’t lose himself in Harry’s face; he’s got a job to do. 

Sucking harder, Nick loosens his fist, uses just his fingertips and thumb to stroke Harry, base to the ring of his lips, back down, tracing the veins, learning the shape of him, trying to relax his jaw let Harry a little deeper on every up stroke. Harry’s arse cheek flexes under his fingers as he does a tiny thrust, halted more by his own control than by Nick’s palm firm on his hip, but he whispers an apology anyway. It’s good, though. Nick eases up his hold, digs his fingers in a little to let Harry know he can do it again. After a moment, Harry does, a little shift, then a roll of his hips, and another, staying out of Nick’s throat, but stretching his mouth wide as it will go. He’s just as good as he promised. Better, even. 

But good as Harry’s being, it’s been a while since Nick did this, and raw throat or not, he’s going to be feeling it in the morning. They’ll have to work up to long, lazy sucks. Now he should get Harry off, see if it’s true he’s quiet after a second orgasm. Hand firm again, Nick guides Harry out of his mouth, giving him the tight smooth strokes that made him come earlier, letting his tip bump Nick’s lips and chin. 

He watches Harry watch him for a minute, watches the flush creep from his face down his chest. Harry’s always been an easy read, now’s no different. It’s not much of a surprise when he says, “Gonna,” dropping one hand heavy to Nick’s head. Nick closes his eyes and feels Harry’s dick kick with the start of his orgasm; he tries to aim down so most of it lands on his neck and chest. He’s gonna have to shower anyway, but nothing kills the mood like jizz in the eye. He was right about making Harry shake. 

Harry’s still shaking when he slumps into Nick’s arms, legs splayed out either side of Nick’s thighs, back bowed awkwardly under Nick’s palms. “Here,” Nick says, trying to gather him up, get him more comfortable. He has to half lift and half roll him, but manages to get them on their sides without breaking anything. Harry clings to him like a very clingy thing. No change there, then. “Good boy,” Nick murmurs into his hair. Harry makes a pleased sound in reply, and Nick figures since he’s already been caught, there’s no harm letting himself kiss the top of Harry’s head. 

*

“That’s obscene, Harold,” Nick says. He’s watching Harry soap his dick in their post-coital shower, watching the way the head pops out between sudsy fingers, the way his balls slap the back of his hand.

“You love it,” Harry says. He cocks his hips so his dick bumps Nick’s thigh. “Besides. You’re always telling me the appropriate place to get naked is your bathroom.” 

“There are no appropriate places for that,” Nick says, eyeing Harry’s dick which is getting hard _again_ under his ministrations. 

“Hmmm,” Harry says. He leans in and pecks a kiss on Nick’s mouth. “I can think of a few.” 

 

~fin

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to janesgravity for the lookover <3


End file.
